


Of Repatriation and Risk

by Linxcat



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 07:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linxcat/pseuds/Linxcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Then Ladyship had straightened up and smiled her shark smile, as if they were in brilliant cahoots about something - and maybe they were - and had said, "How wonderful it was to speak with you, Mr Lipwig! Hopefully we shall meet again before I leave."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Repatriation and Risk

Lady Margolotta was a very intriguing person.

Intriguing, in this instance, meaning that she had perfected that awful combination of charming and terrifying that meant you found yourself, for some unbeknownst reason, unable to tear yourself away from her conversation, as much as you longed to. And then she would raise her eyebrows in that almost patronising way, as if to say, what are you still doing here, dear, shouldn't you be running along now?

It was very nearly _don't let me detain you_ , but the toothless smile and the pink fluffy jumpers gave it the chillingly maternal touch. Moist never wanted to meet her again, if he could manage it.

Lady Margolotta von Uberwald was a _bad_ kind of thrill; she was not a wahoo-crikey-flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants thrill, nor was she an is-it-hot-in-here-or-is-it-just-you thrill (he had fondly dubbed that feeling 'Spike' in his head, which was not only the woman whom he associated it with, but also a reminder of the consequences he would suffer, should he associate it with anyone else) - although he knew, just looking at her that she _could_ be, if she wanted to.

Because you didn't have to be an Uberwald lad to know that vampires didn't wear pink fluffy jumpers and pearls and call you _darlink_. They just weren't wired that way. Not many people were, thankfully.

Vampires were dangerous, but _vampiresses_ …well, they were on a whole new level. This was because seduction was not something that they learnt, was not a choice, it was just something that they embodied by instinct. Thankfully for his marriage and his mental health, her Ladyship kept her sexual seduction levels to a minimum (he didn't like to even imagine that scenario, because he was terrified that if he did, his hypothetical self would have given in), and instead substituted them for political seduction, which was worse, although less emotionally wringing.

Still, that in itself told him vast amounts about her real personality; this was a woman who had made a conscious decision to remove herself from the position of ultimate sexual attraction that all vampiresses naturally occupied, so she could run her section of Uberwald without turning all competitors into slathering messes.

Well, she did that anyway, but through underhanded cunning instead of feminine wiles.

But vampires did not regularly deviate from tradition, and they were famous for it. What Disc-shattering revelation - or, perhaps, _person_ \- had caused her to start thinking so uncharacteristically afresh?

There was a very obvious answer; Lord Havelock Vetinari. No one who encountered that man could walk away unchanged. Oh, everyone knew the story - a young man on his Grand Sneer with a few jolly good chums, stopping off at Zer Castle to visit the oh-so-hospitable Ladyship. Judging by what he knew of Vetinari and Lady Margolotta's personalities, and what he'd picked up in his youth about the nature of vampires, the next part was fairly easy to predict.

It must have taken place…what, thirty years ago, when Vetinari was in his late teens? Well before the time of the League of Temperance, then. That meant that Ladyship would have been one of _zer lovely vampire ladies of zer night_ ; feeding off dashing young men who ventured to the castle for thrills and stories to tell.

And then she'd gone and met the young Havelock Vetinari, who would have been handsome and beyond intelligent and probably wedded to his beloved city, even then. Oh, the witty banter - there would have been enough to fill a thousand trashy romance novels. Mind games, too, and emotional manipulation on both sides and, although he desperately tried not to go there, probably lots of fantastic sex too.

And then…what? An argument, perhaps - or maybe they both realised that it couldn't last forever. So Vetinari had returned to Ankh-Morpork, sunk his teeth further into its political system and had become its patrician within a decade, and Lady Margolotta had taken up friendly tyranny herself and reformed her bloodsucking ways.

It was quite sad, really.

When Moist had had his Postmasterdom thrust upon him, Vetinari had been in the midst of an over-the-clacks game of Thud with Lady Margolotta. So they were still in friendly communication, although rumour had it that it was more than just friendly.

And he knew all of this, so why had the bloody, bloody _hell_ had he gone all Klatchian inquisition on her Ladyship? He knew the answer, of course; his mouth, aided and abetted by his curiosity, had bound and gagged his brain and run off giggling to cause mischief.

He'd been sitting in the waiting room, ready to face his weekly meeting with the Patrician and trying to desperately to find some sort of pattern in the ticking of the clock, when she'd emerged from Lord Vetinari's office. It didn't occur to him at the time that it was only nine in the morning, besides that he was exhausted, but when he realised it on circumspection, he pushed the thought into a small cardboard box, taped it up and sent it on a one-way trip to the Counterweight Continent, because he was _not_ going to even think about that.

"Good morning, Ladyship."

She'd turned around, surprised, then smiled, "Mr Lipwig, good morning. How wonderful to see you again. I trust I find you well?"

His first thought had been, well, her Morporkian has improved. Or she'd just decided on an accent to stick with. "Very well, madam. And yourself?"

"Very well indeed." she'd sat down and patted the seat beside her, "And your wife, and your son? My word, he must be nearly two years old! I'm afraid Havelock will be a while, so, please, sit and talk with me."

Despite every instinct telling him to _run like the wind_ , he'd sat down. His inner barriers had jumped to their feet, ready to block any mental probes she sent his way, because a woman that could give Havelock Vetinari a run for his money was a woman around whom you did not take any risks.

"Adora and John are both quite well, thank you."

"I am glad." she'd examined her nails nonchalantly (elegantly long, of course, and painted a deep red that somehow did not clash with the pink of her jumper), then straightened the hem of her skirt. Moist knew this trick; Vetinari employed it in a slightly less feminine manner, and it was incredibly effective. It was designed to make the other feel so awkward that they were forced to fill the silence with babble.

"I - ah - wasn't aware that you were in the city, my Lady…?"

Oh, how well it had worked, gods damn her.

"That is because I only arrived last night." she'd given him another radiant smile, "I am keeping my presence her on the - how do you say it? The down-low? Politics are so tiresome, but there we go."

 _Politics are tiresome?_ His inner self had laughed at that. _You love politics like a chef loves fresh quality meat. Like Vetinari loves politics. This is all a front. Which just makes it more terrifying._

"Is there a particular reason for your visit, madam?" said Moist, who distantly realised at this point that his mouth was no longer controlled by his brain.

She had been surprised, but recovered well, "A trade agreement, actually." then she'd laughed and wagged her finger, as if he had tried to trick her, "Ah, but you are a businessman! I will keep my mouth shut, and if the Patrician wishes to disclose the details, that is his matter."

For most people, sheer terror and self-preservation would have been enough to prevent at least audible questioning of this excuse. For not the first time in his life, Moist had wished that he was most people, and that his mouth did not have some sort of suicide wish.

"Really?"

The sound of the silence had been a terrible thing, but Margolotta was caught a little off guard, and he liked that in people. He'd hastily added, "I mean, I have heard that Lord Vetinari and your Ladyship are close friends. You are entitled to the occasional personal visit, aren't you?"

And, oh gods! He'd just made it a thousand times _worse_! That flicker in Lady Margolotta's eyes - had it been danger or amusement?

"I'm rather jealous of you, Mr Lipwig." she'd replied after a few seconds, apparently all sincerity.

Moist had forced himself not to see too much in those burgundy eyes; use as much caution as you would with Vetinari, and then triple it, because she is, after all, a woman, and you know their nature very well, don't you? _Too_ well. A heart-to-heart with a political ambassador? No, it just didn't happen. He grappled with his mouth and managed to gain some semblance of control over it.

"Me, Ladyship?"

She'd given him a sad kind of smile that had set off alarm bells in his head, "You have a wife, who you adore, and with whom you can spend the rest of your life. You have a child, and if I am not mistaken, another on the way?"

He'd fought to keep himself relaxed; she's in the same league as Vetinari, of course she'd know. "Yes, milady. About a month gone."

"Then may I be the first to congratulate you?" the smile had turned warmly toothy, but had still concerned him greatly.

"Thank you, Ladyship, but you were not the first."

"Not the first?" she'd arched an eyebrow at that, then laughed, "Ah, Havelock is so very perceptive."

"Actually, not the Patrician. Lady Sybil."

Her surprise was momentary, then she'd nodded, "Of course, she is your neighbour, and a very intelligent woman."

_Well done, Moist! This is normal conversation, we're almost out of dangerous water! Scrabble for that dry land!_

"Go on, Mr Lipwig. Ask the question. I know you're dying to."

And then the piranha-infested waters of thrill had pulled him under again.

"Which question, Ladyship?" he'd asked politely. She'd smiled that radiant smile, but suddenly the maternal accent had gone from it and he'd glimpsed the shark underneath.

"You are a more clever than you pretend to be, Mr Lipwig, which just proves your intelligence." she'd studied him, the unnerving smile never moving, "A normal person would have responded with enquiries as to how I knew of your wife's pregnancy. A _smart_ person would have also responded thus. But you are curious, as well as clever, I see, and so your mind is ahead of the game. Or behind, in this case, on the previous topic that we so nearly broached." she'd patted him on the knee in a friendly gesture that nearly made him yelp, "I see why Havelock did not have you killed. You are _most_ entertaining, Mr Lipwig."

He'd gaped and choked in a perfect display of confusion and horror, while underneath he'd known exactly what he wanted to say to her. He'd wanted to say, _piss off_. He'd wanted to say, _get out of my head, there's hardly enough room for me in here!_ He'd wanted to say, _gods, you're a genius, teach me?_

But he'd settled for, "Thank you, Ladyship. I try."

And then she'd laughed, her laugh all tinkling bells and dark amusement in her eyes, and then the office doors had swung open to reveal Drumknott.

"Mr Lipwig. Lord Vetinari will see you now."

"My lady." she'd stood up, and when he took her hand, she pulled him a little closer.

"You think I am cold and heartless, Mr Lipwig. Whilst this may be so when considered literally, it does not, however, mean that I am void of all emotion." her voice grew more gentle, "Not so." she added as a sad afterthought, "And neither is he."

Then she'd straightened up and smiled her shark smile, as if they were in brilliant cahoots about something - and maybe they were - and had said, "How wonderful it was to speak with you! Hopefully we shall meet again before I leave."

As he sat in the coach on the way home, Moist von Lipwig wracked his brains for some sort of double meaning behind her penultimate words, and when he couldn't find one, the conclusion that he came to scared him more than he was sure it should.

Adora's reaction was an infuriatingly passive shrug, "They're perfectly entitled to it. And everyone knew, anyway. You've heard the rumours."

"Yes, but…" he searched desperately for the source of his distress, "People don't make up rumours that are _true_ , do they? Spreading a rumour about something that's not real is all in jolly good fun, hoho, let's laugh it off because they have no idea what's really going on, but when rumours get too close to the truth…then it gets _dangerous_."

"Moist von Lipwig!" Adora Belle laughed, then smirked and tugged on his lapels to bring them forehead to forehead, "I thought I married a man that flirted with risk?" she murmured.

To his credit, he barely missed a beat, "I only chat politely with risk. Vetinari _sleeps_ with her."


End file.
